


Greetings From Littleville

by smoakoverwatch



Series: Olicity + William [12]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Series of One Shots, post 6x23, season 6.5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoakoverwatch/pseuds/smoakoverwatch
Summary: Glimpses of Felicity and William adjusting to their new normal under ARGUS protection.Chapter 6: Diaz finds Felicity. She's done hiding.





	1. Healing

**Author's Note:**

> I have… so many thoughts on the way season 6 ended, not all of them are great. So this little thing is just me coping with the [gestures vaguely]. 
> 
> Some notes: I took liberties with the safe house thing. The show was vague, indicating it was handled by ARGUS and would only be necessary until Diaz is off the board. Also, the town they end up in is a fictional place borrowed from the DCU, and picked after googling at 2 am. 
> 
> This is a one shot but I have a few more ideas planned out for season 6.5, it’s just a matter of me balancing life stuff this summer. 
> 
> Enjoy!

When Felicity first walks into the safe house, she laughs.

Or, she thinks it’s a laugh. A harsh, hollow sound escapes her mouth without permission and it kind of feels like the closest thing she’ll be able to get to a laugh.

She knew Oliver had his hand in arranging the safe house, but she had no idea the extent.

It’s, almost eerily, a copy of their home together, from years ago in Ivy Town. It’s not Ivy Town, of course. Littleville, Oregon is a far cry from the suburb they called home years ago, but somehow he made this happen.

Maybe he had hoped it would make things easier on her. Maybe he’d hoped that the familiar comforts would make it feel like home.

It’s not home. No place will be home without him.

When she shows William to his room, she is relieved that the similarities to their home from forever ago are limited to the first floor. She doesn’t know how she’d handle sleeping in a bedroom that reminded her too much of laughter, and brunches, and lazy smiles from a version of herself she can’t recognize anymore.

William withdraws quickly, closing the door behind his room without a word. She had noticed it as they dodged reporters, as they packed essentials, and drove to this house. John explained to them the details of the city they were in, their new identities, the school William would be enrolled in, and the young boy didn’t say a word.

She gives him his space, because the past 24 hours have been rough, and he’ll need it.

She looks at the file John handed her before leaving. Inside outlines the profiles for single mom Meg King and her son, Sam. There is a car sitting on the driveway registered in Meg’s name, information on the school Sam will attend in the fall. There’s a sum of money that’s been given to them, but Felicity is expected to find a job within the next few months.

The kitchen is stocked with fresh groceries. There is no peanut butter in the stocked cabinets, or any peanut related item at all. The refrigerator is full, with kale salad, the red grapes Felicity likes to snack on at work, and the brand of juice William prefers. Touches of Oliver are all over this place.

She wants to hate him for it. She wants to hate him for a lot of things, right now.

Holding the fridge door is when a fresh wave of tears threatens to break through for the first time since her last conversation with Oliver, but she forces them away. If she starts crying, she won’t stop. And she has to stop. This is life now, this is their new normal, and she can’t cry over ever bagged kale salad she comes across, that won’t help her or William.

When she slams the fridge door shut with perhaps a little more force than necessary, she moves to the cabinets. It’s closer to the evening, and William hasn’t eaten all day, so she needs to get started on dinner. She finds the familiar blue boxed mac and cheese in a cupboard and silently thanks Oliver.

As she gets started on dinner, she hears creaking on the staircase, followed by hesitant footsteps making their way down.

William approaches the kitchen timidly, eyeing Felicity by the stove. His eyes briefly fall to the open file on their identities she left on the kitchen table, but he quickly averts his eyes.

His face is pale, eyes puffy and tired. He fiddles with the ends of his plaid shirt, hovering uncomfortably between Felicity and the kitchen island.

“Anything I can help with?” he asks, his voice rough.

“Why don’t you set the table?” Felicity suggests, “I’m almost done here.”

She watches him out of the corner of her eye, as he gathers three plates and then pauses. His grip on the plates tightens slightly before he puts one back on the shelf.

They eat in silence. There’s a lot Felicity wants to say to him, but right now she has trouble figuring out what he needs to hear, what reassurance would be a lie, and how much of it she can handle herself. For now, she’ll let him retreat. Today is for grieving, for confusion, and anger, and tears, but tomorrow she will help them move on.

It’s what Oliver would want them to do.

When the table is cleared and the dishes are washed, Felicity eyes the living room. There’s a tv in the centre and she wonders if Oliver’s extensive planning in this house transferred over to her highly specialized DVR set up.

“Do you want to watch something tonight? We could find a movie,” Felicity suggests. The false cheerfulness in her voice makes her cringe.

William only shakes his head.

“I think I’ll sleep early,” he says.

If her face falls, she tries to hide it.

She nods, reminding herself that he needs space.

“Maybe tomorrow we can get a little bit of shopping done?” she says, “Make this place feel a little more like… home.”

The word sits bitter on her tongue. She hates herself for even suggesting it could be. But it has to be, if they’re ever going to be able to move on.

William only nods, before climbing up the stairs.

Without company, the idea of watching tv becomes far less appealing, so Felicity finds her way into the master bedroom for the first time.

At first sight, it feels impersonal, as though any other bedroom in suburban America could be set up like this. The king sized bed (too big) sits in the middle, cool gray sheets and teal accents in the form of too many decorative pillows fill the space.

The drawers have a few items of clothing folded neatly. Nothing familiar, not even the kind of thing she’d buy for herself, but the size accuracy indicates this was courtesy of ARGUS, not her husband.

She finds a pair of black pajama pants and a white t-shirt and changes into them quickly. The black dress she had on while waiting for Quentin in the hospital, watching Oliver’s arrest, and being hurried out of the state feels uncomfortable now. She lets it drop on the floor and doesn’t bend to pick it up. She doubts she’ll be able to wear it again.

When she climbs into the bed, her initial suspicion is confirmed. It’s far too big. She settles on the corner near the window almost out of habit, and when her hand stretches out she realizes how much room there really is. She twists around so that she lies in the centre, but the pillow feel too thin, so she punches it a little. The duvet pulled to her chin starts to feel too hot, so she pushes it down to her knees. She twists and turns, trying to find a comfortable position on her sides, on her stomach, with no success.

When she eventually flops on her back, arms outstretched, she sighs.

Felicity and Oliver had broken up for longer than a year. One of the hardest years of her life, and one of the biggest struggles day in and day out was sleep. Sharing a bed with Oliver was, simply put, peace. The comfort of having him close, of his warmth, the way his hands spanned onto her stomach and pulled her in to his chest, his breathing lining up with hers, it was the closest thing she had come to contentment in a long time.

When they had broken up, sleep was nearly impossible. It didn’t help that so soon after ending things, Havenrock happened and stole away any chance Felicity had at a normal sleeping routine for good.

Still, she managed. She found five hours here and there and kept herself going.

 _If I did it once, I can do it again,_ she tells herself, throwing an arm across her face in frustration.

It takes a long time, a few tears leaking out at memories of Oliver, but eventually the exhaustion from the day – and really, the months of tracking Diaz – pulls her in and she drifts off to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Felicity isn’t sure what makes her wake up at exactly 7 am the next morning. Maybe it’s the lack of a bedpartner – _the_ bedpartner—or the guilt of sleeping in while her husband is in a supermax prison. Still, she figures she’s pushed her luck with a semi-decent night of sleep far enough, and she hops out of bed to get started on the day.

Yesterday was for grieving, today is for moving on.

She repeats it to herself like a mantra as she showers, washing her hair with an unfamiliar shampoo and conditioner. She silently adds _better toiletries_ to the mental list of things she’ll need to pick up when she shops with William today.

She passes by William’s room on her way down, where he left the door slightly open so that she could see his still sleeping form on the bed.

She lets him sleep. He was just as exhausted as she felt, and there’s no rush to get him out of bed today.

She uses the chance to get started on breakfast. She googles a recipe for French toast on her phone, and she figures it can’t be too hard.

By the time she’s got the bread on a pan, and feeling pretty confident about it, she hears footsteps down the stairs.

She turns her head, to see William, dressed for the day in last night’s clothes, but looking considerably more rested.

“Morning!” she says, the cheer in her voice not as forced as yesterday, “You want breakfast? I’m Frenching the _hell_ out of this toast.”

She blinks and shakes her head.

“That came out wrong. Hungry?”

William gives a hint of a smile and nods.

She’s just about to return the smile when a sound outside the window makes her freeze.

It’s a loud crashing sound, startling her so much that her grip on the bread drops and her heart rate skyrockets. She’s hit with the impulse to tell William to get down, to protect him just like when their home was under attack a few days ago.

She realizes half a second later, when a familiar beeping of a backing up vehicle rings, that the crash was just a garbage truck collecting trash.

If William notices her reaction, he doesn’t say anything. She takes a steadying breath to will her heart back to working order and picks up the French toast to flip it over.

The entire backside is charred, blackened flakes already starting to fall off. She checks the other one on the pan and sees it is no better.

The tongs she was holding slips out of her grasp, falls to the floor, and clattering on the tile.

“Felicity?” William asks.

“They’re burned,” she says, her throat closing up faster than she can control, “I – they were just – I don’t.”

Hot tears begin to burn at her eyes and she clenches her jaw. This wasn’t supposed to _happen._ Not now.

“It’s okay,” William says, bending to pick up the tongs, “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” Felicity insists, the tears leaving tracks down her face, “I was supposed to – it –”

She’s bordering on full-blown blubbering territory when William reaches over to turn the stove off. He guides her away from the kitchen and onto the couches in the living room.

“It’s just toast, Felicity,” he says, confused.

“Oliver never burned the toast,” she finally says. She hates herself for it. It’s so petty and insignificant, and she shouldn’t be reduced to a sobbing lump of an adult woman because of it.

Still, the words make realization dawn on William’s face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says gently. An arm wraps around her shoulder and she’s being pulled into his lanky form.

The gesture makes the tears come faster, until her hands start to shake when she wipes them away.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t supposed to – I shouldn’t be –”

The words get tangled on her tongue as she fights down retching sobs. William doesn’t say anything, instead running his small hands along her shoulders in comfort.

It takes ten minutes.

She pulls herself up, wipes the last of her tears away and pushes off the couch.

She heads to the washroom, splashing water on her face to wipe away all the traces of crying. Her head feels thick and heavy when she’s done, so she heads to the kitchen and downs a glass of water in two sips.

She walks back to the couch, where William is still seated.

She sits down next to him and stares at her lap.

“I really regret that,” she says quietly.

William straightens up.

“What, crying? Please don’t feel bad, I understand.”

He’s clenching his jaw in determination and concern, an expression that is so reminiscent of his father it nearly brings a fresh wave of tears.

“No,” she says. She pauses to rub her hand along her face and straightens her back.

“Did I ever tell you that it was just me and my mom growing up?”

William’s eyebrows furrow at the abrupt conversation change.

“But your dad was at the wedding,” he says.

Felicity smiles sadly.

“It’s complicated. But he did walk out on us when I was younger. I didn’t really get it at the time,” she purses her lips, “It was… hard on both of us. I had an aunt, my mother’s sister, who lived out of state and came to help out after he left.”

The memory aches. She hasn’t thought about it in so long.

“I remember Aunt Tess told me I had to stay strong for my mom, because this was hard on her, and she needed me,” Felicity says, “I listened, because I could see how much mom was hurting. Then, later, when I was supposed to be sleeping, I heard Tess telling my mom that she needed to stay strong for me, because I was a kid and I needed her right now.”

Felicity still remembers it vividly, peaking over the staircase to where her mom and her aunt sat on the couch, a bottle of red between them.

“I remember being confused at the time,” she continues, “Because if mom was supposed to stay strong for me, and I was supposed to stay strong for mom, how were we going to move on?”

William starts to nod in understanding.

“A year later, Tess passed away,” she says with a frown, “She lived all the way in New York, but my mom got all her savings together so we could fly there for the funeral. I remember standing there, watching my mom cry, and all I could think of was what Tess told me. I had to be strong for my mom, so I pushed how sad I felt for her.”

She feels a little more put together as she reaches the end of her story. “My point is, kiddo, we’ve been doing the same thing. You’ve been trying to be strong for me, and I’ve been trying to stay strong for you, and both of us are killing ourselves over it. I started crying over _toast_ ,” she says with a little smile, but when William frowns at her self-deprecating joke, she changes to a more serious expression, “That’s not how we heal.”

She takes his hand.

“From now on, if you need to lean on me, you lean on me. and if I need you, I’m going to trust that you can handle it. This new life we have….” she purses her lips, “It isn’t going to be easy. So we need to work on it together. Deal?”

William gives her a little smile and nods.

“Deal.”

“Good,” Felicity says. A rush of a different emotion grips her, but she pushes it away, “Now, enough of that. Should we go _buy_ breakfast? I think I saw a diner not so far from here.”

William smile grows.

“That sounds perfect.”

* * *

 

In the weeks following Oliver’s arrest and Felicity and William’s move, they manage to establish a routine that works for them.

They hit a speed bump here and there, but mostly, things are working. Sitting at home isn’t working for her, so Felicity creates a resume under her new name and starts looking into jobs in the area. She’s a little hesitant to leave William alone for the summer, but she knows it’s the only way they’ll be able to establish a new routine.

Things go well until an interview at William’s new school.

They had been invited just to take a tour of the school, meet with the faculty, and discuss what adjustments William would be expecting.

It’s their first real public outing with their newly forged identities, and it’s tougher than Felicity expected.

Right away, they both have a little trouble reacting to their new names. John had warned them of this, and Felicity had even spent a day practicing a new signature for Megan King in preparation, but the reality is different.

She can see that William struggles with it, too, taking a moment too long to react to his new name when the principal giving the tour addresses him.

If the principal notices their strange behaviour, he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you like sports, Sam?” he asks cheerfully, “It would be a good way for you to get involved here, meet new people, and hey, mom can come see you play.”

William flinches. The question pulls Felicity back to a scene from months ago, of Oliver and William with toy bows in their apartment. She wonders if that crosses William’s mind, too.

He only shrugs.

“I’m not really athletic.”

It’s one of the few speedbumps, but they still make it through the tour okay. The school is nice, the faculty seems welcoming of William – well, of Sam – and Felicity feels a little better about sending him here in the fall.

One thing she learned pretty soon in parenting was that the worrying never really ends. She’d never be able to feel completely comfortable sending William to school even if she was physically there with him herself, but this school was good enough.

She made a note to herself to hack the cameras and set up a feed on her home computer before his first day of school.

William is quiet on the drive back. She asks him if he wants to stop for lunch but he shakes his head.

They’d been doing so well over the past few weeks that the retreated William stands out to her. As they’d established a routine, William would work hard to keep conversation up, crack jokes, smile. Felicity could still see from his tired eyes that the adjustment period was still not quite over.  

She lets him quietly exit the car and walk into the house, but when he makes his way up the stairs she stops him.

He looks at her questioningly.

“I just think we need to talk for a minute.”

William shrugs and follows her to the living room.

She sits on the couch and pats the spot next to her. It’s starting to become their little heart-to-heart spot, but she likes the idea of having one place where they can always open up to each other.

“I noticed you were a little quiet today while we were at the school,” she says. She tries to keep her voice calm and steady, not wanting to give away any worry that would make William retreat.

Instantly, he’s shaking his head.

“It’s nothing,” he says, “I’m just tired.”

She gives a hint of a smile.

“William,” she says patiently, “Today wasn’t easy. If you want to talk about it, I understand and I’m here.”

William purses his lips.

“It was hard,” he admits, “When we were at the school and they thought you were… my mom.”

Initially, it stings. It’s an unfamiliar pain, like rejection but somehow worse, but she has to force all of those emotions down.

She remembers now, how William flinched every time he called her ‘mom’ in front of the administrators. She feels stupid now for misreading the signs earlier.

“I’m sorry,” William says sadly, “It’s not about you, you’ve been so great, and I couldn’t ask for anyone better but it’s just…”

Felicity’s throat feels tight. This kid is … he’s something else. Going through the toughest things life can throw at a child, grappling with his grief and still somehow sensing Felicity’s pain.

“Don’t feel bad,” she says quickly, her voice higher with emotion, “I understand. Samantha was your mom.”

“I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately,” he reveals. He looks down at his lap, and Felicity rubs a hand soothingly up and down his back.

“It’s been more than a year since she… since the island,” he says, “I missed the anniversary when Dad got arrested and we had to move. I remembered the other day and I felt… really guilty. With everything going on, I haven’t been thinking about her much.”

Tears sting at Felicity’s eyes in sympathy. She can’t even begin to imagine how much his life has been turned upside down in the past year.

“I miss her, Felicity,” the first tears finally break free, “I miss her all the time. But I’m worried I’ll forget her.”

“Hey,” Felicity says gently. She brings her arm around William and pulls him in, where his face gets buried in her neck. “You won’t forget her, things have just been crazy here lately. I know you love her, she knows you love her, and nothing will change that.”

William doesn’t say anything. His body starts to shake with sobs, and all Felicity can do is hold him tight and ignore the stinging in her own eyes.

Felicity didn’t know Samantha Clayton very long, but a part of her had admired the single mother. She remembers the spirit that drove her on Lian Yu, the determination when she said she wouldn’t leave without finding her son.

She wonders what Samantha would think of Felicity raising her son now. She hopes she would approve. Felicity’s thoughts on afterlife were a little murky, especially considering the coming-back-to-life tendencies in the world of Team Arrow, but she hoped Samantha was somewhere, watching her boy and felt at ease knowing whose care he was in now.

It was no coincidence that, in choosing William’s new identity, Felicity went with Sam. It was her way of remembering his mother. She may not have known Samantha for too long, but she always got the impression of a little Lorelai Gilmore vibe from her that may have appreciated it.

Holding onto William as he grieves for his loss, Felicity thinks of Samantha. She looks to the ceiling, strangely, as if to say, _I got him, I’ll care for him, I won’t let anyone hurt him again. For you, for Oliver. For myself._

* * *

A month into their new lives in Littleville, things start to go from just adjusting to finally accepting things. Felicity still hasn’t quite found a job that she’s comfortable with yet, and William still has a long way to go before school, so they take it upon themselves to turn this house into a home.

It starts with painting William’s room, covering the dull eggshell white with a more comfortable gray-blue. Then, they’re rearranging the living room furniture and Felicity decides she hates the faucet in the kitchen after all, so they teach themselves plumbing overnight, and before they know it the whole house is a project.

It’s a good way to spend the time. It keeps their minds busy and makes them feel like each day is productive. Felicity can’t deny that there’s something satisfying about seeing their hard work after a long day.

They’re in the back garden one afternoon, arguing over planting flowers or vegetables, when Felicity gets a call.

Her eyebrows furrow when the caller I.D. indicates that it’s John Diggle.

When he escorted them to the safehouse, John told her pretty clearly that given the nature of their situation, contact would be hard. He said it wouldn’t be safe to visit, and he couldn’t promise any phone calls.

It was tough to hear at the time, but when her life was already in upheaval, she hadn’t been able to process it.

Now, looking at the grinning contact photo, Felicity feels an ache in her chest at how much she’s missed her best friend.

She answers the phone with a quick swipe, dropping the small shovel and throwing her gardening gloves to the ground.

“John?” she answers. There’s a swell of hope in her voice as her mind begins reeling, that maybe he’s calling her with good news, maybe Diaz is off the board, maybe Oliver –

“Hi Felicity,” at the tone of his voice, Felicity feels her heart drop to her stomach. He sounds tentative. She can picture the way he’d hesitantly approach her, with worry in his eyes, if he were here, “I was calling to check in on you.”

Felicity presses her lips together tight.

“We’re good here,” she says lightly. When William lifts his neck and looks at her questioningly, she decides to get off the grass and moves towards a (recently purchased) patio chair.

“How are you? How’s Lyla?”

She can hear breath over the mic, as though John’s laughing, “We’re just fine here, but we’re not the ones in protective custody. How are you, really, Felicity?”

Felicity feels the familiar tugging behind her eyes at the words. She’s finally moved past the state of constantly being on the verge of tears when they first moved, but one call with John Diggle is going to turn that upside down.

“I’m… I’m managing, John,” she answers honestly, “It’s not easy, but I’m working on it. William helps.”

She smiles as she watches the boy from her chair. He’s still crouched on the grass, staining his shorts, and digging into the soil as though it personally offended him.

“I’m glad,” John replies simply.

“I miss you,” she says quietly, and it’s like something inside her finally gives way, “So much. I miss all of you guys, and home and – I really miss him.”

Her voice cracks by the end, and she can hear John sigh on the other end.

“I know, I miss you too. I’m sorry it had to be this way, but it’s what Oliver wanted to keep you safe.”

She closes her eyes tight, trying to fight off the string of thoughts that would generally follow whenever she remembers Oliver’s wish.  

“Right,” she says tightly, fearing that anything more will just make the dam she’s built up crack.

“I saw him today,” John reveals, and it makes a tear slip out.

One of the worst things, perhaps, of the protective custody arrangement is that they were told under no circumstances would they be able to visit Oliver while in prison. Though Oliver promised her the arrangement was only until Diaz is found, they had no assurance on how long that would be, and visiting him would possibly compromise their new identities.

Felicity had long since resigned that their last moment together had been in that room. It was easier to move on if she accepted that, than to simply hold out hope that soon she’ll be able to see him.

The idea of Oliver, in drab gray, looking at her through a sheet of glass with tired eyes, makes her shudder. It’s too reminiscent of her time with Cooper back in college, and that brings about a fresh wave of concerns.

She pushes all of that away.

“How is he?” she asks, her voice is small.

“He’s…” John hesitates. Felicity knows he doesn’t want to lie to her. “He’s surviving. It’s what he does best, right?”

Felicity flicks a loose thread on her tank top back and forth.

“Yeah.”

“He asked about you,” he says, “You and William. I told him you guys went to the safehouse and he looked relieved. I think he assumed you would have fought us on that.”

There’s a little bit of fondness in John’s voice now, that should make her want to smile, but instead her eyes just mist over.

“Yeah, well,” she says in a watery voice, “It’s what he wanted to keep his son safe, I couldn’t say no.”

“Hey,” John says in that rock-steady voice of his (god, she misses him), “We’re working on finding Diaz. We’re following up on a few leads this week. We will catch him, and you and William will be able to see him too.”

She closes her eyes again. One hot tear escapes out of the corner of her eye and she wipes it away. She doesn’t want to hope.

“Yeah,” is all she manages to say.

There’s shuffling on the other end, and a muffled curse.

“Felicity, I have to go,” John says regretfully, “I can’t tell you when I’ll be able to check in again, but take care of yourself, okay?”

She can feel her chin shaking as her last shred of strength leaves her. She missed John so much, and this conversation was far too short to fill the spot left in her heart.

“You too, John,” she manages to say.

“Stay strong, Felicity,” he says, as though he can sense her sorrow through the line, “Bye.”

“Bye.”

When she hangs up, she takes a moment to wipe at her eyes, and walks over to William.

“I think that’s good for today,” she says, forcing lightness into her voice, “Should we head inside?”

She manages to get by the rest of the day easily. They order pizza and eat off napkins because they’re too tired from gardening to bother with cooking or dishes. William watches a baseball game and doesn’t mind when Felicity says she’s going to bed early.

The exhaustion from the day pulls at her quickly. When her head hits the pillow, her eyes tug together, the words from her conversation with John linger in her mind.

The dream starts as a memory.

It’s the night before everything went to hell. Oliver and Felicity were in ARGUS, having just finished their conversation with William.

Their home was still a mess of broken glass and bullet holes, and Oliver didn’t feel comfortable going to a hotel when Diaz was still out there, so Lyla graciously offered them space in ARGUS for the night.

With an apologetic look, she led them to a small room with two twin beds.

“It’s the only one we have available right now,” she said.

Felicity only waved a hand.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

When she left them alone, Felicity looked at the separate beds with a laugh. How fitting that after a day spent mostly fighting, they would be forced to sleep apart.

Next to her, Oliver chuckled.

“This is like that motel – do you remember?”

Despite everything, Felicity found herself smiling.

“In the Rockies,” she finishes, “How could I forget?”

“You were the one who insisted we stop.”

“Only because you were practically driving us off the road with how tired you were.”

The motel was the kind that horror movies were modeled around. The general ambience of being in the mountains, with spotty cell service and plunging darkness, didn’t help matters any. But they were bone tired from a day of driving and sightseeing.

The only room available, like this one, had two twin beds. But Oliver and Felicity, still lost in the fresh feeling of being together, when they felt like any moment where they couldn’t touch was a moment being wasted, found it unacceptable.

They crammed on one bed, Oliver’s feet dangling off the end while Felicity’s arms clung around his chest to prevent falling off. They laughed at how ridiculous they felt, but Oliver revealed he preferred being close and everything else melted away.

“Your back hurt like hell the next day,” Felicity said, smiling at the memory.

“It was worth it,” Oliver said, eyes shining. He tugged her hand forward, “Come on.”

She was laughing as they got tangled up on the bed again, feeling three years younger. Like they don’t have a ruined home, like Diaz didn’t exist.

She brushed her nose along his neck, sighing as they finally settled in.

“Tired?” Oliver asked. It was his idea of a joke.

“Yeah, fighting with you really takes it out of me,” she mumbled. She felt his chest shake with silent laughter.

“It would be easier if you listened to me sometimes,” he commented.

“No fun in that,” she said.

He laughed again.

She felt the familiar tugging of sleep pull at her, but something was still nagging in her mind.

“Oliver?” she said quietly, feeling more alert.

“Hmm?” His eyes were already closed, but she knew he wasn’t close to sleep yet.

“When you said you had a plan…”

His arms tightened around her back.

“Later,” he said simply, “It’s been a long day.”          

She accepted it, letting sleep pull her in.

The memory changes after that.

She wakes up in the ARGUS room alone. The blueish light coming from the hallway is the only thing that lets her see, but she knows Oliver isn’t in the room. She pushes the covers off and flings the door open.

Instead of the ARGUS hallway she expects, she’s met with a long concrete gray hall. There are cells on either side, faceless people calling out to her as she takes a tentative step in horror.

She’s in a prison.

At the end of the hall, she sees Oliver. He’s facing someone else, someone who’s face Felicity can’t see. They’re talking quietly, too quiet for her to hear, but when Oliver looks over the man’s shoulder and at her, something in his expression turns angry.

The men are at each other, then. Oliver swipes a punch to his face, and the other man retaliates. He gets another swing in before Oliver can and brings him to his feet. A kick lands in Oliver’s stomach and he grunts.

Tears fill Felicity’s eyes as she watches. When Oliver turns his head to the side to spit out blood, she reacts.

She starts to run, but her feet feel too slow. She only makes it about a foot closer before she is blocked by metal bars. She backs away when her toes touch the metal, and she looks around to see she’s now in a cell.

Oliver is still on the ground. This time, more men join, yelling obscenities as they attack Oliver. She clings to the bars of her cell helplessly as she watches Oliver lose his consciousness.

She’s calling out for him, but it sounds distant and echoey. Her hands reach out in the small gaps, but it’s not enough. His head turns to her, eyelids heavy. His mouth moves before his eyes slip shut.

“ _Felicity_.”

She lets out one last desperate cry, to get his attention, to get help, but it’s no use.

“Felicity, Felicity!”

There’s a tugging, and her eyes fly open.

William is leaning over her bed, one hand awkwardly hovering on her shoulder. The lamp on her nightstand is on, the dim light casting shadows on the young boy’s concerned face.

She sits up, her breathing heavy.

It was a nightmare. Just a stupid, awful nightmare.

She tries to swallow once her breathing evens out, but her throat is dry.

“Are you alright?” William asks, “I heard screaming, I –”

Felicity presses a hand over her chest.

“I’m okay,” she says, her voice hoarse, “I’m fine. It was just a dream. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“You were calling out for dad.”

William sits on the edge of the bed.

“I was dreaming of him,” she says, “John Diggle called me earlier, told me he visited your dad today and I guess it made something in my mind start.”

William nods.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Felicity shrugs. Her arm feeling too cold in her short-sleeved t-shirt.

“It started out as a memory, actually, right before he got arrested,” she says, “But then it was like I was at the prison, and – and someone was hurting him, and I couldn’t stop it –”

She has to stop herself, because a fresh wave of tears find their way to her eyes and she curses.

She’s so tired of crying. She promised herself she’d heal but every moment feels like one step forward and ten steps back.

“I’m sorry I woke you up, and if I scared you,” she says once she steadies her emotions.

William only shrugs.

“We lean on each other, right?” he says.

She smiles slightly.

“Yeah.”

As if he can sense that she doesn’t want to be alone just yet, William adjusts so that he sits more comfortably on the bed. He hands her the tv remote that sits on her nightstand silently and she smiles.

Three episodes of an old sitcom later, William’s head hits her shoulder. She looks down to see his eyes closed, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks.

She runs a hand through his hair, grateful for the thousandth time that she has this boy in her life, before sleep pulls her in as well.


	2. Blending In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and William attend a neighborhood barbecue. It does not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kind of came to me by surprise, and I kind of fell in love with the concept, I don't know if I hit the right notes in execution. It’s definitely lighter in tone than the last one and the one I have planned next.

This feels like déjà vu.

Felicity blinks a few times, as though to make sure she didn’t get transported back a few years when she wasn’t looking.

Of course, she didn’t. There’s a few things that clue her in.

For one, there’s the distinct lack of Oliver, which, though she’s learning to grow used to, is impossible not to notice.

For another, the neighborhood barbeques here in Littleville are distinctly different than those of Ivy Town, even if the smiling suburban families in pastel shorts are eerily similar.

Felicity tries to push all those thoughts away as she grabs herself a paper plate and makes her way to the food table. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees William throwing a football around with a group of boys his age.

His wide smile, as he pushes damp hair away from his forehead, is contagious.

She may not be a fan of these kind of things, but she endures them if it means he’s happy.

Funny how those Queen boys have that effect on her.

William is kind of how they got roped into these things in the first place. Her neighbor – Karen, decent lady, if not a little passive aggressive – suggested they would be a nice way for Will to make some friends, and for both of them to get to know the others in the community.

And the rest was history.

This was their third party of the month – these Littleville people loved their potlucks – and Felicity was starting to get back into the habit.

Karen finds her hiding by the drink table.

“You know,” she says with a sly whisper, “Kyle’s dad has been asking about you the last few times.”

Felicity swallows her lemonade a little too roughly and has to stifle a cough.

Karen looks over across the table, where a man in a polo shirt is watching them with a hint of a smile on his face. At his expression, Karen nudges into Felicity’s side a little and Felicity’s face starts to burn.

Dear god. She is way too tired for this shit.

“Ethan got divorced two years ago,” Karen whispers, “He’s young, his boy is the same age as yours. He’s an accountant.”

Felicity tries not to cringe when her neighbor gives another obvious nudge into Felicity’s side.

She forces on a polite smile Karen’s way, “You know, I’m not really… looking to put myself out there…”

If she sounds uncomfortable when she says it, it shows. Karen’s face immediately falls.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s just that – well, you mentioned it’s just you and your boy.”

Her eyes drop to Felicity’s hand, where she’s kept on her wedding band for the past few months.

It was kind of a fight with Diggle, who told her that keeping the ring would mess with their identities, but she didn’t care. She put her foot down, because the idea of taking it off when Oliver was in prison made her too uncomfortable.

Since then, she hadn’t given it much thought. Nobody really asked her about it, until now.

“Did you lose your husband recently?” Karen says in a sympathetic voice.

Felicity closes her eyes briefly, and nods.

She’s not entirely comfortable with pretending Oliver is dead, but now she’s starting to see Diggle’s point of view a few months later.

“Six months ago,” she says, “That’s why we moved here, we just needed a change.”

Karen nods in sympathy.

“I know it must be hard,” she says, “But he would want you to move on.”

_The only way that I'm going to survive this is if I know that you're out there, living your life, happy._

The memory makes a strangely hysterical laugh bubble in Felicity’s throat. That night in Nanda Parbat feels like a lifetime ago now. It’s strange how many times they end up in the same situation.

She forces the memory of Oliver’s voice away. It’s not even a question. She doesn’t want some single father accountant who plays catch in Littleville Park every Sunday.

She wants her infuriating, stubborn, self-sacrificing husband. She wants him back.

“Just think about it,” Karen says gently, before leaving Felicity to walk towards one of the picnic tables.

Felicity sighs once before making her way to the spread of food, forcing the discomfort she felt with Karen away. She’s starving, considering she and William wasted the whole morning making last minute brownies to bring over to the potluck and rushing over here.

Of course, the minute she fills her plate, someone taps on her shoulder.

She turns.  

“Hi.”

It’s the guy Karen wanted to set her up with. Great.

“I’m Ethan. Kyle’s dad.”

He looks over to where the kids are throwing a frisbee around.

“Looks like our boys are friends,” he comments.

Felicity nods uncomfortably.

His smiling at her with too-white teeth. His skin is an even tan, facial hair shaven off. His hair is neatly combed to try and distract from an undoubtably receding hairline. He gives her a quick once over that makes her want to tug the ends of her sundress down.

“I noticed you guys were new to the neighborhood,” he continues, “And I know how hard it is to meet new people…”

Kill her now. This was the most uncomfortable she’d felt in a long time.

“I was just thinking,” he powers on, despite Felicity not saying a single word through this conversation (a feat which is pretty impressive for her), “If you want to bring over your son one day, he can get to know Kyle, we can all have dinner sometime.”

He pauses, looking at her expectantly. She realizes a moment too late that he’s waiting for her to say something.

“I –”

“Hey, mom,” William appears from, seemingly, out of nowhere.

His forehead shines with sweat, and there’s a little pant in his voice that indicates he’s spent the better part of the hour running around.

“Hey, kiddo,” she says, relieved at the interruption, “Have you eaten yet?”

Will shakes his head, “I will. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

He turns his neck a fraction to the side, where Ethan still watches them with that unwavering grin. The older man gives him a wave, but William promptly looks back to Felicity.

“Some of the guys were asking if I wanted to go to the waterpark with them later,” he says, “That’s okay right?”

Felicity’s eyebrows raise.

“Slow down, bud,” she says, “Who exactly are _the guys?_ Where is the waterpark? How are you getting there?”

It’s a little system they’ve set up, now that he’s making new friends, she likes knowing just enough detail before he speeds off.

William rolls his eyes.

“Carter’s older brother said he can drive us,” he says impatiently, “Come on, can I go? They’re waiting for me to start the game again.”

“Wait just a minute,” Felicity says, and now she’s starting to feel a little angry at the kid, “I don’t know Carter, let alone his older brother. How old is he? Is he safe driver? Are there going to be any parents?”

William sighs angrily.

“You always do this,” he says, his tone bordering on a whine, “No one else’s parents are this strict, everyone else said it’s fine, I’m the only one who still has to ask permission.”

Felicity’s eyes are wide now, and she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

William, bless him, is a fairly reasonable kid. They set up ground rules long ago about their new lives, about any new friends he’d make or places he’d go without her. He’s never once had a problem with them until, apparently, now.

 “I don’t understand where this new attitude is coming from –” her voice starts to rise into the distinct Mom-Voice she’s been building lately.

“Maybe I should come back later,” an uncomfortable voice interjects.

Felicity turns to see Ethan watching their back and forth uneasily. She’d forgotten he was there.

She nods, giving him a half-hearted wave that he doesn’t return.

He awkwardly turns around and walks over to a picnic table, where a few other dads were watching their conversation.

“Finally,” William mumbles under his breath. He turns to Felicity with a bright smile on his face, “Do you want to get out of here? I’m tired. The food sucked.”

Felicity’s mouth is still hanging open.

“What the hell was that?” she demands.

William only shrugs.

“You looked uncomfortable when that guy was talking to you,” he said easily, “I wanted to help.”

Felicity’s mouth twitches up without her permission.

“You –” she tries to hide a wide grin, “You’re unbelievable, kid.”

He looks innocently, in a way that reminds her so much of Oliver it hurts at that moment.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says. He probably deserves ice cream for this impressive display of intuition.

As they walk out of the park and onto the path home, William looks uncertain.

“That was okay, right?” he says, “You didn’t want to talk to him? You looked –”

“Hey,” Felicity stops them in their path, placing a hand on his shoulder, “That was _very_ okay. There’s only going to be your dad for me.”

William’s worry fades away and his eyes soften.

“I knew that,” he says, “I _know_ that, but I was just worried –”

“Right now, there’s only one guy in my life,” she says, brushing some of his damp hair to the side, “He’s pretty awesome, even if he needs a shower right now, and I have my hands full with him.”

William smiles.

“Let’s go home.”


	3. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and William's first fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you all for the unexpectedly lovely responses to my first two one shots. This one was not planned, but inspired by some responses I got for Chapter 2. 
> 
> Next one’s theme is vigilantism. Real excited to write it, esp cause I’ve been stalling on it since the first chapter.
> 
> ((Also: Yes, I changed the name of this work to fit a ‘collection’ of one shots more, cause this wasn’t planned. Hope I didn’t confuse anyone who got the sub emails lol))

Felicity watches the clock with so much intensity that she’s starting to get a dull pain in her forehead.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. She’s alternating between the clock, the front door and her phone, but for the time being she’s waiting for the clock to go from 10:59 to 11:00 so that she can be _officially_ worried.

She was on the border of being worried before – but she didn’t want to let herself fall down that hole just yet.

When the minute hand does inch forward, she lets out a sigh. She unlocks her phone and presses into William’s contact with a little more force than before.

The line rings twice before going to voicemail – which he has yet to set up.

_The customer you are calling is unavailable…_

She throws her phone onto the couch. She’s really starting to hate that lady’s voice.

They made an agreement – he could go out with his friends tonight, but they set a curfew of 10. She didn’t think it was entirely unreasonable, and he agreed with a promise to call and check in.

Now, it’s an hour past his curfew, he hasn’t checked in once all night, and she can’t decide if she wants to run out there to look for him or wait by the door until he walks in.

The nightly news plays in the background as she waits, tapping her foot impatiently.

When it’s a quarter past 11, Felicity’s started a careful path around the living room rug, where she makes a move to grab her jacket and keys but decides to wait at home instead. She repeats the actions a few times.

With every missed call, her concentration dials into the news more and her mind starts to wander towards all the horrible reasons William could be ignoring her calls.

He could have gotten himself hurt, or in an accident. He could be lost somewhere, since they still don’t know Littleville all that well. One of Diaz’s men might have found him, despite all their best efforts, oh god, what would she do, what would she tell Oliver – ?

By 11:30, her phone is open to Lyla’s contact page. They’ve been very clear about limiting communication, but Lyla told her that in case of any emergencies Felicity should give her a call.

Her potentially missing stepson is definitely an emergency.

Felicity’s finger hovers over the phone number for a moment before she hears a key sliding through the front lock and the door swinging open.

She’s on her feet almost instantly.

William drops his keys on the table in their foyer without looking up. Quickly, her eyes scan him, relieved to see that he’s completely physically unharmed.

As quickly as he appeared, her worry turns to anger.

She clears her throat and crosses her arms with a little bit of theatrics Donna Smoak would have employed.

“Oh,” he says, looking at her for the first time, “You’re still up.”

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead.

“Yeah, I’m still up,” she says, “Considering you’re home an hour and a half later than we agreed, _and_ you weren’t answering your calls.”

“My phone died,” he says, “Sorry.”

He doesn’t sound the least bit remorseful – doesn’t have the _decency_ to look ashamed at coming home late like any other kid would – and that incenses Felicity even more.

When he tries to move around her to go upstairs, she raises an arm to stop him.

“Wait just a minute,” she says, “That’s not okay. I was so worried about you, I thought something terrible happened. You can’t do that.”

“I said I was sorry,” he says, eyes averted, “We just lost track of time.”

Felicity purses her lips together in an effort to try and hold onto her last shred of patience.

“William,” she says evenly, “This isn’t going to work like that. We have rules. You can’t run off past curfew.”

As she speaks, she can see a muscle in William’s jaw tick, as though he’s losing his own patience.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says impatiently, “It won’t happen again, okay?”

“No,” Felicity says firmly, “Not okay. It’s absolutely not okay that you made me sit here and worry about you for _hours_. I almost called the police, I almost called _Lyla,_ all because you _felt_ like staying out a bit late with no consideration –”

“I didn’t want to come home,” he blurts out.

The outburst hangs in the air. It’s so unexpected that Felicity is briefly too shocked to say anything.

“I didn’t want to be around you,” he continues, “ _Moping_ all day.”

“Moping?” Felicity’s repeats, her jaw dropping open.

“Yeah,” William says, “All day, you’re just moving around the house, looking sad. Or you’re watching Star City news channels almost obsessively. You said you would find work, but nothing’s _called out to you_ yet. You keep telling me we need to be adjusting here, but I’m the one who’s made friends and you don’t talk to anyone. So, yeah, I just wanted a break from _you_.”

He’s out of breath by the time he’s finished. Each sentence tumbled out faster than the last, and it makes Felicity wonder if this rant is something that’s built up before tonight.

“You’re acting way out of line here,” she says, her voice low, “You don’t get to start accusing me of anything. You don’t like being around me right now? Fine. I’m still your parent, and we agreed on certain rules. That means getting home at a certain time.”

He shakes his head and looks away, mumbling something under his breath. Felicity’s head tilts to the side.

“What was that?” she asks, though she heard exactly what he said.

His chin lifts.

“I said you’re _not_ really my parent. My mom’s dead. My dad’s in prison. You’re just the one who got stuck with me, and you haven’t been around long enough to get to tell me what to do.”

He spins around and stomps up the steps before Felicity has a chance to get another word in, leaving her hovering by the stairs.

It takes a moment for the conversation to float around in her head. William’s words repeat over again until tears spring to her eyes involuntarily.

She walks back to the couch slowly, her arms curled around her middle. The television still has the news going, and her eyes are glued for a moment, before she remembers what William said and quickly shuts it down.

After everything they’ve been through, after how hard she’s tried to support him and care for him despite every obstacle life’s thrown, William still doesn’t see her as anything.

Maybe she expected too much. After all, he’s still grieving for his mother and missing Oliver, but she thought that after months of bonding they’d have _something._

It’s crushing to realize that look in William’s eye earlier, that resentment that clearly built up over time, tells her she’s been wrong all along.

Her phone still sits on the couch, unlocked with Lyla’s contact information pulled up.

She stares at it for a long time, until twin tear drops cover the screen.

It’s no longer an emergency – William’s home. He may not be happy with her, but he’s home and unharmed and safe – but a part of her still wants to call Lyla.

One of the hardest things Felicity’s had to grapple with is how unexpectedly isolating being out here is.

William’s naturally adjusted with a group of kids his age, but it’s harder for her. She doesn’t know how to meet new people now, with all the secrets in her life that have added up. All her friends are in another city, and she isn’t allowed to contact them. Her husband is in prison for life. It’s been difficult.

One of the things she loved about her relationship with Oliver was just being able to _talk_ with him. In the first few months of dating, they used to be up all night, talking about _everything  --_ from their childhoods, to things they enjoyed, to life and dreams and the future.

Though no one’s ever accused Oliver of being especially talkative, she fell in love with the way he’d gradually open up, how his eyes would spark as he talked about things that excited him. She loved getting to know him, to let him get to know her, to be each other’s comforts.

Even when they hadn’t been together, she felt like she could always talk to him. In the months following the explosion on Lian Yu, they had spent night after night on the phone together, to try and make up for the absence of any physical closeness. There were so many nights she’d fallen asleep to the sound of his gentle voice in her ear, feeling safe even without him there.  

Oliver wasn’t just her husband, he was her best friend.

Now he’s gone, and she isn’t even allowed to write to him anymore.

Her friends are all back home, no parts of their lives have been uprooted except hers.

She wonders bitterly if they even think of her out here, but she pushes that thought away quickly. It’s not fair to them. She knows they care about her, but right now they have to worry about getting Diaz off the board.

Still, she cannot go another night with this weight of loneliness on her chest.

She hits Lyla’s phone number, and when the line starts ringing she lets out a shuddering breath.

“Hello?” a familiar voice responds quickly.

Felicity wipes at some of the tears with the back of her hand.

“Lyla,” she says, her voice watery, “Hi, it’s Felicity. I know you said only to call in case of emergencies…”

She hears shuffling in the background, and she wonders if she caught Lyla in the middle of something.

“Felicity? What is it, is everything okay?”

Felicity’s eyes squeeze shut.

“Everything’s okay,” she says quickly, “Everything’s fine, I just – I just –”

“Felicity?” Lyla says again, gentler this time.

“I just really needed to talk to someone,” she rushes out, “Is that okay?”

“That’s more than okay,” Lyla says easily, “What’s wrong? You sound like you’ve been crying.”

Felicity shrugs, even though Lyla can’t see it. Her other hand falls to the couch cushion and starts picking at a loose thread.

“I can’t do this,” she says, and the words start rushing out, “It’s too much. I’m not good at any of it, and I don’t know why Oliver thought I could raise William alone –”

“Slow down,” Lyla says, “I need you to breathe. Can you do that?”

Felicity tries. Her breathing is still unsteady even if she’s mostly managed to reign her tears in.

“Good,” Lyla says. Her voice is so calm. Felicity misses her so much. “Now, I’m going to ask you what happened, but first I want you to get yourself some water.”

Felicity mumbles a quick “okay,” before pushing off the couch to twist open a plastic water bottle, tilting it into her mouth. The water rushes down her dry throat, faster than she can control, and before she knows it she’s setting an empty bottle down on the table in front of her.

“Done,” she says. Her voice is small now, but she feels more put together.

“Feel better?” Lyla asks.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” she replies patiently, “Now, tell me what happened.”

She starts recounting the night, how they agreed to let him go out up until a certain time, how she sat up waiting for him to come home, the fight on the staircase. By the time she’s reached the end, she’s crying again, and she has to stop to get another bottle of water.

“He hates me,” she concludes, “I mean, why shouldn’t he, right? I’m the nobody. Not the mom, not the dad. I’m just… here.”

The admission feels like tar in her chest. All this time, she was so naïve to think that baking cookies while Oliver was out and bonding over math problems made them close. She was wrong. William only tolerated her all this time, and now he’d reached his end.

“Okay,” Lyla sighs. She’s been silent as Felicity spoke, patiently waiting until she had finished recounting the night’s events, “Felicity, he does not hate you.”

Her throat feels tight again.

“You weren’t there,” she insists, feeling petulant, “You didn’t see how he looked at me.”

“I know that,” Lyla answers patiently, “But from what it sounds like to me is that he’s just frustrated. Try to look at things from his perspective, okay? His life has been uprooted multiple times in the past two years. He lost his mother, he took time to trust Oliver and then he lost him too. He’s not angry at you, he’s angry at _the world_.”

Felicity shrugs.

“He didn’t sound angry at the world when he was telling me all the things I’ve been doing wrong.”

“Let’s get to that,” Lyla says. Her voice shifts to something no nonsense and Felicity feels like she’s in for a dressing down, “Let’s talk about why William thinks you’re not making any friends, or any effort to integrate, or do anything other than watch Star City news.”

Felicity starts to play with the collar of her shirt.

“He may not have been… entirely off base,” she admits.

Lyla sighs.

“Felicity,” she says, her tone closer to a reprimand, “That isn’t healthy. You need to be making an effort here, too. It’s not going to be easy for him if he sees that you’re struggling, you know that right?”

“I know,” she says quietly, “I know that, but it’s… _god,_ Lyla, it’s just so hard. You guys have no idea what it’s like, knowing all of you are back there, not knowing if you guys are safe, or injured.”

“I can’t imagine,” Lyla says sympathetically, “You have to try, okay? Just try, and trust that we’re doing everything we can to bring you guys home soon.”

Felicity nods to herself.

“I miss you guys,” she indulges, “So much. How are you all holding up?”

“We’re good, Felicity,” Lyla says, “All of us miss you. Especially Johnny. He hasn’t said anything, but I can see it in his eyes when he looks at the mantle photo of you three from our wedding.”

Felicity smiles for the first time that night. She remembers when they took that picture, on Diggle’s insistence that they have just one photo together. The memory tugs at her chest.

“Tell him to hang in there,” Felicity says, “For my sake. I want some of his barbeque steak before the summer’s over.”

Lyla laughs.

“I’ll pass the message along.”

There’s a lull in the conversation then, and Felicity knows that’s her cue to get off the phone, to let Lyla return to her life, but she can’t bring herself to do it. It feels so nice to hear a familiar voice, to talk about the world she had to leave behind.

But that longing only tells her she needs to hang up more, if she’s going to make any efforts to grow.

“I should get going,” Felicity says regretfully, “Thank you so much for lending your ear tonight.”

“No problem, Felicity,” Lyla says, “I know I shouldn’t be encouraging it, but any time you feel like it’s getting too much, please call me. We’ll work out the security issues.”

Felicity smiles.

“I appreciate that. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She hangs up, throwing the phone on the couch with a bounce. The weighty conversation drained her, and she finds she can’t quite get herself up the stairs and into her room.

Instead, she slides a throw pillow down, throws her legs over the sofa and lets herself sleep.

* * *

When she wakes the next morning, her first thought is one of regret.

Her spine aches from the lack of support through the night, and she knows her doctor back in Star City would kill her if she knew how Felicity slept.

She gives it an experimental twist with a groan, opening her eyes slowly.

As she does, the first thing she sees is the blurry outline of William hovering over her.

She takes a moment to blink a few times as he comes into focus, his fingers twisting together as he watches her.

It’s not until she reaches out to the coffee table to retrieve her glasses does he say something.

“Did you sleep down here?” he asks, watching her sit upright. His voice is heavy with guilt, and now that she can see him better she knows his eyes carry the same weight.

She nods, rubbing a hand across her neck where it feels stiff.

“I wanted to…” he hesitates, “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

He looks like he has more to say, but he still hovers above her uncomfortably, so she pats the spot on the couch next to her.

“I was upset,” William admits after sitting down, “Not at you. Just… at everything. Things are hard. And every time it feels like it might be getting easier, I don’t know… my brain catches up and it feels hard again.”

Felicity can tell that he’s struggling to get the words right, and she nods sympathetically.

“But that’s not an excuse,” he continues, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You were right, we had rules that I shouldn’t have broken. And I shouldn’t have told you you’re not my parent, after how hard you’ve been working to keep me happy. But the truth is…”

Felicity braces herself for the other shoe to drop. The truth is she _isn’t_ really his parent. The truth is she won’t ever be, and that’s just how it is.

“The truth is that… I love you,” he admits, and Felicity knows with the way he struggles to finish his sentences that this is not an easy admission, “More and more every day. And that scares me, because it feels like everyone I love leaves.”

Felicity’s eyes start to fill with tears once more, watching as William’s sincere admission makes his cheeks go pink.

“William,” she says, her voice high with emotion. She pulls him in for a one armed, awkward hug, “I love you, kiddo. I’m not going to leave you. Not if I can help it.”

“That’s what –”

“I know,” Felicity says, a bitter smile on her lips, “I know that’s what he said, too. But I mean it. You and I are in this together.”

He nods, his messy hair brushing against her cheek.

“But that means that when things get hard, we need to work on them together,” she says, “We’re going to have days where we want to fight. That’s inevitable. But we’re a team, and if something’s wrong we need to work through it together.”

“You’re right,” William says.

“So today, I’m going to start looking for work,” she says, “I’ve been putting it off because nothing would match up to the stuff I did back h—back in Star City. But that’s not fair.”

William gives her a smile.

“Sounds good,” he says.

“But first,” Felicity pushes off the couch and claps her hands together, “Breakfast. What do you feel like?”

William mirrors her action quickly, “No, no, let me,” he insists. She raises her eyebrows in surprise, “It’s the least I can do. You can just relax.”

Felicity fights a smile and raises her arms defensively. Giving a satisfied grin, William makes his way to the kitchen. Felicity watches him from the archway between the two rooms.

The heavy feeling that followed her through the night lifts, replaced by something else, something lighter she can’t quite name yet.


	4. Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Felicity’s birthday. Her present is a phone call from a supermax prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, hope your hiatus is going well. I know last time I said my next installment would centre around vigilantism, but this one came easier because I’m fighting writer’s block rn. 
> 
> I’ve been getting some prompts in the comments so if you have, hit me with ya best shot and I’ll do my best.
> 
> Enjoy!

At first, Lyla emphasizes that it’s a possibility.

“I can’t make any promises,” she tells Felicity over the phone, a month before it happens, “So please don’t get your hopes up. Just in case, though, we’ll have to set up everything _very_ carefully.”

So that’s that. Felicity doesn’t put too much thought into it – it’s easier not to hope for it and push it out of her mind.

But then, weeks later, she gets a series of messages.

11:12 am: _It’s going to be a secure line, but just some things to keep in mind:_

11:12 am: _Be careful what you say_

11:13 am: _No giving away your location or identities_

11:13 am: _Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want a stranger to hear_

11:13 am: _Don’t say something stupid like that you’re going to save him_

11:14 am: _Oh, and most importantly_

11:14 am: _Happy birthday_

Felicity feels a strange flutter in her stomach as she realizes the unsaid meaning behind Lyla’s words. The feeling is unfamiliar, something she hasn’t felt in months.

She’s excited.

Pushing the window curtain aside, she glances William, who is outside on the driveway with his new bike.

(Felicity finally got a job. Kid deserved a bike for putting up with her. He loves it).

Fifteen minutes later, Felicity’s phone is ringing with an unknown number flashed on the screen.

Her thumb shakes as she slides to answer the call.

“Hello?” she says hesitantly.

There’s silence on the other end, and for a moment fear grips her – that something went wrong along the way, that this didn’t work. But then, there’s a bit of rustling, a heavy breath, and then the best sound in the world.

“Felicity?”

It’s him.

It’s really him.

Blood rushes around Felicity’s ears, and she has to cover her mouth when a sob builds in her throat. It feels as though she’s been instantly thrown back a few months, to the last day she saw him, listening to his goodbye with William and clamping her fist on to her mouth, begging her tears to stop for just a moment.

“Hi,” she breathes. For someone who once rambled to Oliver Queen about the finer points of Swedish berry versus sour peaches candy, she finds herself at a complete loss for words.

“I’m –” his quiet voice breaks, and then there’s a small, embarrassed chuckle on the other end, “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe –”

“I know,” she says when he cuts himself off again, “I know.”

“Happy birthday,” he says, “I’m sorry I’m not there to wish you in person.”

The tears threaten to start again, but the sound of the front door opening makes her head snap up.

William walks in, throwing his baseball cap on the table as he does. At her expression his eyebrows furrow.

“I – William’s here,” she says. She realizes belatedly that she’s ignored his wish, but right now her mind is starting to spin. “Would you like to speak with him?”

If Oliver’s caught at her abruptness, it doesn’t show.

“William?” he says, “I – yeah, if he wants to talk.”

Felicity tries to ignore the self deprecation in his voice as he says it – as though he believes his son wouldn’t want to hear his voice as much as Felicity had.

She pulls the phone away from her ear, a small tremble in her arm as she holds the phone out for William.

“It’s your dad,” she says with a small smile.

William’s confused expression doesn’t shift, but he takes the phone and wanders into the kitchen.

“Dad?”

She takes the few minutes she’ll have as they speak to compose herself. The heavy wave of emotions hit her hard and fast, after months of carefully picking herself up in the wake of Oliver’s arrest.

She wipes at the underside of her eyes. If she’s going to talk to him, _really_ talk to him, she needs to keep herself leveled.

She faintly hears bits of William’s conversation as he wanders around the kitchen.

“I miss you too… It’s okay… I’m fine… I’m fine, really… No, she didn’t tell me that.”

He sends a surprised look Felicity’s way, and she suspects that her plans of keeping her birthday a secret this year just went out the window.

“Yeah, it’s been good… She is. We are. Okay. Take care, Dad. I love you too.”

He holds the phone out for Felicity again, his eyes are a bit more red.

“Here,” he says, his voice a little gruffer.

She takes the phone and wanders upstairs to give the young boy a little privacy (and maybe herself).

“Hi again,” she says, feeling oddly shy once more. She still feels like this is a strange dream, that she’ll wake up to the buzzing of her phone and realize that her mind can recreate Oliver’s voice in stunning accuracy after all.

She sits on the edge of her bed, brushing back the unmade covers.

There’s an awkward silence as they both try and figure out what to say – or where to start, maybe.

“William sounds well,” Oliver comments.

Felicity notice for the first time that he sounds… tired. His voice is smaller, less animated than it sometimes would be when they spoke. It worries her. She wonders what he’s seen there that’s dimmed his voice, but then again, she doesn’t think she can handle it.

“He’s been handling all of this really well,” Felicity says, “Just… He’s really great.”

Oliver swallows on the other end.

“And you? How have you been holding up?”

Felicity blinks.

“I’m… I’m just fine, Oliver. I have it easy, here in … Well, I’m not allowed to say, am I? What about you? Are you okay?”

Oliver ignores her question.

“I know none of this has been easy on you guys, and everything happened too fast for us to properly talk about it.”

“Oliver,” Felicity says, “It’s okay, really. Besides, it’s only temporary, right?”

There’s a deep sigh on the other end, one that makes a horrible staticky sound over the speaker.

“About that…”

“Oliver.”

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts.

“You know, that’s what gets us into these messes in the first place.”

“Just listen to me, please,” the gentle pleading in his voice makes her walk back the snark, but she has a bad feeling about where he’s going with it. “I’ve been thinking, I made my fair share of enemies as the Green Arrow. People who would want to hurt you if you were in Star City. Not to mention the media circus...”

She clenches her jaw.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying maybe you shouldn’t go back to Star City at all,” he finally says, “Maybe it’s better for you guys where you are, where you’re already settled and safe.”

She’s too angry to respond. This is not how she imagined this conversation going, but honestly, she should have seen it coming. She knows Oliver better than anyone.

“I’m sorry,” he says when she doesn’t answer, “I knew you wouldn’t like that.”

“Oliver,” she says slowly, her voice shaking as she tries to put a handle on her anger, “You can’t even begin to understand…”

“Please,” he quickly says, “Please. All I can think about while I’m here is you guys. Your safety. Your happiness.”

“You think our happiness is here, away from everyone? Away from you? Living a lie and being told I can’t even visit you again?”

Her voice starts to rise, and she forces it to a lower volume, hoping William didn’t hear her outburst.

“Felicity, I didn’t want to fight with you,” Oliver pleads tiredly – _so_ tiredly, “Just consider it, okay? For me?”

She tries to ease the fist she twisted into the sheets of her bed.

“Fine.”

It’s a lie. She’s considered it, and he’s wrong. But if it’ll stop them from fighting in these precious few moments they have together, she’ll say anything.

“Thank you.”

There’s another silence over the line, one that’s more tense as Felicity searches for something to say without yelling at Oliver or crying.

He beats her to the punch.

“I’ve been thinking about our wedding lately,” he says, and this time his voice is coated with wistfulness and longing.

“Which one?” Felicity asks with a snort. Oliver chuckles over the line, and some of the tension disappears. She leans back against the headboard and stretches her legs out on the bed.

“The most recent one. The reception, I guess. I just remember you walking in, and looking so beautiful, and _happy_ , and all I could think at that moment was, ‘I am so lucky. Because I get to spend the rest of my life with that smile. With _her.’”_

He goes quiet for a moment, and Felicity takes the time to wipe at the tears that tracked down her cheek.

She wonders what brought on this sudden wave of nostalgia.

“Felicity,” he says, his voice cracking again, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you that life.”

Oh. It’s not nostalgia – it’s regret.

“Oliver…”

“No, please let me say this. It’s all I could think about, since I couldn’t say it on our last day together.”

“Okay,” she says. She’s caught off guard by the sudden vehemence in his tone, and she can tell that saying this is really important for Oliver.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the life I promised,” he continues, “The life you deserved. I’m sorry I made the decision for us, _again,_ and that you and William got sucked into it. I’m sorry we never got to really start _living_ together.”

“It’s okay, really,” Felicity insists with a watery voice, “Occupational hazard, you know?”

“Please don’t do that,” he says, “Don’t just brush it off. I know it was hard. I know you’ve been struggling to adjust. Lyla told me when they last visited.”

“Oliver,” she sighs, and she feels so tired, “I don’t want to waste any more time being upset with you. It happened, we can’t go back.”

He doesn’t say anything. The only thing that Felicity can hear is the muted buzzing that passes along their phone connection.

“…Okay.”

“Tell me something about where you are,” she tries again, “Anything?”

“It’s… Well, there’s not much I’m allowed to do. I go out twice a week. It’s sunnier here. I’ve been reading a lot more.”

“Reading?”

“Yeah. I remember I took this course on classics in college –”

“You remember something from college?” the tease slips up before she can stop it.

“Ha-ha,” he drawls, and strangely enough the light banter makes her laugh, “Anyway, I’ve been working my way through some books here. It helps days go by faster.”

At his description, Felicity finds herself filling with regret for even asking him about it.

For a time, when Cooper was in prison, it looked like he would be moved to a Supermax after sentencing – the sentence which never came, of course. In her desperation to arm herself with any knowledge possible, Felicity spent hours reading articles on what life was like in those prisons, and stayed up watching a particularly intense documentary she found online.

The next day, she got the news of Cooper’s ‘death’, but all that knowledge stayed burned into her brain.

Years later, she didn’t need to do any research. The details and accounts from what she read are burned into her brain, the visuals from that documentary come to surface every so often at night.

It’s all she can think about now. Oliver, looking as worn out as his voice indicates, dark circles under his eyes. He’s probably lost weight, his cheeks hollowing out and making his skin looks paler.

She wonders how his hair looks – when he was arrested, it was long, in the way she always loved, because she could run her fingers through it. It’s probably longer than that now, hanging over his eyes. Eyes that would look hollow, from days spent alone, stealing a few hours in the sun, and reading to pass the days.

Just imagining it, while she sits on a comfortable bed, makes her stomach turn.

“I can hear you thinking,” he comments quietly when she doesn’t respond, “I’m okay. I promise. Talking to you, knowing you and William are safe, helps me the most.”

She blinks away the tears – she’s so _tired_ of crying – and nods, even if he can’t see him.

“We’re here, we’re okay. I’m going to talk to Lyla and see if it’s safe to have these calls more often – or if we can write to you, or –”

“No, it isn’t safe,” Oliver says with a hint of frustration, “We talked about it at length – she’s too worried someone would trace your location and compromise your identities. And I can’t have that.”

Felicity bites the inside of her cheek.

“Okay,” she says.

“Th –” there’s a shuffling on the other end, and Oliver mumbles to someone else. The other voice begins to get louder and he sighs in defeat, “ _Fuck_. Felicity I’m really sorry, but we’ve run out of time.”

Immediately, she straightens. Because that wasn’t nearly enough time, there were so many things she wanted to say to him and they’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Okay,” she says, her voice starts to tremble like it did at the beginning of their conversation, and she starts speaking faster, the finish line for their conversation pushes urgency into her voice, “Thank you for arranging this with Lyla. I missed – I missed this. I love you.”

“Of course. I love you so much. Happy birthday, again.”

They exchange goodbyes, and the line goes dead eventually. Felicity keeps her phone pressed against her ear, as though keeping it there will make his voice come back to her. She wishes she recorded it – just to hear him say _I love you_ again, on the bad nights, on the nights she could do nothing but ache because she just _misses_ her husband.

She loses track of how long she sits on the bed. Her arm starts to ache, so she lets it drop to her lap, and she puts her phone down. The room goes dark around her as the sun moves behind a set of clouds, but she can’t bring herself to turn the light on.

Tears streak down her cheeks, and she wipes at them furiously. It feels like she’d finally made progress from months earlier, when it felt like all she could do was cry. But she had picked herself up, she had worked towards getting her life together and keeping William happy. Now all she can do is wrap her arms around her stomach as her body shakes in silent sobs, leaning over the edge of the bed.

She hears the familiar footsteps up the stairs, and a pause right outside the door. Carefully, her bedroom door is opened with a horrible creaking sound (she’s been meaning to fix it, honest) and William hesitantly pokes his head through.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

Felicity sniffs – a horrible, thick sound.

“Hi,” she says, wiping at her cheek with the back of her hand.

“You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday,” William starts, “I wish you did. I would have done something.”

She’s shaking her head before he finishes.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“We can go out to eat,” William suggests, “Maybe see a movie? If you’re up for it.”

His hands twist together as he hovers by the doorframe. The worry is clear in his eyes, but he doesn’t want to directly bring it up to her, and he’s giving Felicity an out.

That’s why she has to put the effort in, too.

“Let me grab my sweater,” she says.

She takes a moment to wash her face, to pull her hair up and even brush a coat of light pink lipstick across her lips.

She leaves her phone at home.

 


	5. The Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyla’s come to expect calls from Littleville, but she doesn’t expect this one: The one of a frightened boy telling her Felicity’s been in an accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, hope your hiatus is going well. This one was a prompt given to me by user JLC in the comments, so you can blame them. Also, this is my first ever time writing in Lyla’s POV. I had fun with the challenge! 
> 
> Sidenote: I went to Arrow's medical school. In other words, I took a lot of liberties with the hospital stuff, we're gonna let it slide. 
> 
> Enjoy!

At first, when the phone rings in Lyla’s lap, and the caller ID smiles up at her, she has a reprimand forming in her mind.

She’s explained to Felicity a few times that their contact should be left for emergencies only, but they’ve spoken a few times just to keep in touch. Just last night, Johnny broke the rule himself by using Lyla’s phone and calling her.

He argued that really missed her – even gave her the eyes – so Lyla let it slide.

She’s not made of stone.

This morning, as they’re driving to Slabside Maximum Security Prison to check in on Oliver, she wonders idly if Felicity knew they’re going to visit him. Johnny made a point not to mention it to her during their conversation last night, but Lyla wouldn’t put it past Felicity Smoak to be a mind reader.

She answers the call with a sigh.

“Felicity, I don’t _want_ to be a hard-ass, believe me, but we really can’t –”

“Ms. Michaels?” a small voice asks.

Lyla blinks for a moment, startled. But then the barely contained panic in the voice registers, and she feels a cold settle over her.

“… William?” she asks.

“I’m sorry for calling,” he rushes out, “I know we’re not supposed to, but Felicity said if anything happened I should call you or Mr. Diggle. I don’t know what to do. I don’t –”

“William,” she says, raising her voice slightly, “What happened?”

Johnny, who’s driving, glances over at her now with a questioning expression. She waves him off with one hand and gestures to the road, but there’s a tightness in his eyebrows that tells her she gave away how worried _she_ is.

“I wasn’t there,” William says over the line, “I – She asked me, but I said no. I should have gone. Maybe it would have been fine.”

“William,” Lyla tries again, closing her eyes. The kid is clearly in shock, given whatever happened, but right now her mind has gone into _go time_ , which means she needs to know what happened.

She needs to know if Felicity is dead or alive, for one. It’s a horrible, dark thought, but you don’t spend years in ARGUS without making it your first.

“Felicity was in a car accident,” he finally says. The waver in his voice tells her he’s fighting off tears, “It’s bad. They took her to a hospital, I’m in the waiting room now. They said she needs surgery. Ms. Michaels – I don’t know what to do.”

Lyla takes a deep breath. Now she has a better handle on the situation, she feels like her lungs aren’t in a vice anymore. Felicity’s alive, no one was gunned down by a criminal, she is in a hospital – which would be problematic given the secret identities of it all, but nothing she can’t handle.

“Get me the name of the hospital, please,” she says in a levelled tone, “We’re on our way. And William? Stay calm. She needs you to keep it together right now, so can you do that for her?”

“I – yes.”

“Good,” she says, “We’ll be there soon. If anything changes, don’t hesitate to call this number.”

“Okay.”

When she hangs up, her husband is sending her an alarmed look.

“Hospital?” he asks.

Lyla nods.

“Felicity was in an accident. William seemed a little shaken, there wasn’t much else I could get. He wasn’t there with her at the time, so I think he’s okay, but he’s at the hospital now. She’s going to need surgery.”

Johnny mutters a curse.

“Looks like visiting Oliver is going to have to wait,” he says, flicking the indicator on and pulling off the highway to switch directions towards Oregon.

* * *

While Johnny parks, Lyla runs inside the hospital, towards the waiting room William told her he was sitting in.

It’s a fairly empty hospital, and he’s the only one in the area. He doesn’t use one of the plastic chairs, but instead paces up and down the small hallway, looking out the window. The careful movement, the way his head is bowed and his hands are tucked behind his back, makes Lyla pause, because it’s an action she’d seen Oliver do at least a dozen different times over the years.

She pushes the thought aside and approaches the kid.

“William,” she calls out as she gets closer. His head snaps up, red eyes meeting hers.

“Ms. Michaels,” he says, panic making his voice waver, “Thank you for coming.”

“Why don’t you call me Lyla, while we’re here?” she suggests. She remembers that the respect for all the elders is something Oliver drilled into the boy – being called Mr. Diggle amused Johnny months ago.

William nods, running a hand through his already unkempt hair, making Lyla suspect this was not the first time he’d done so.

“Let’s sit,” she suggests, “And you can tell me what happened.”

William joins her on the row of chairs.

“Felicity went grocery shopping,” he reveals, “But she always liked to go early in the morning. When she asked me if I wanted to go with her, I said no because I wanted to sleep in.”

William’s face crumples.

“It’s so stupid,” he says, “I should have gone with her. Maybe if I were there –”

“You can’t think like that,” Lyla interjects quickly. This is not a road she wants William to go down. “We have no way of predicting the future. If you had gone, she could have still gotten hurt. Maybe you would be hurt, too. It’s okay.”

William nods, his jaw set tight.

“It usually takes her around an hour, so when I woke up and she still wasn’t back I got worried. I tried giving her a call, but she didn’t answer. I started to get worried around noon. And then someone rang the doorbell – and I know I’m not supposed to answer it if she’s not home, but I had such a bad feeling –”

“It’s okay,” Lyla says patiently. She’ll have to work on his _bad feeling_ instinct later, because after the things he’s gone through he’ll begin to mistake bad feelings and anxiety and follow through something that isn’t there. But for now, unfortunately it worked their way.

“It was our neighbor, Karen,” he continues, “She said she passed by the accident – it was right near our street – and recognized the car. Someone hit her head-on. It looked – it looked bad. Karen took me there by the time the ambulance came, and I rode here with them.”

Lyla nods, trying to process the information,

“You mentioned she needed surgery?” she asks.

William winces.

“They tried to explain what was going on, but I was confused. And – and I wanted to warn them about her back, but no one would listen to me.”

Lyla’s eyebrows tighten.

“Okay,” she says, “I’ll handle the rest.”

Johnny approaches them, and Lyla rises from her seat. She buttons her jacket and holds her neck straight. She’s got work to do.

* * *

She finds Felicity’s room fairly easily. Her surgery ended not too long ago, and she’s been moved to post op, but no one bothered to tell William. Lyla feels a tinge of annoyance at that, but no matter, she’s here now.

She glances at her friend through the window.

She’s sleeping, oxygen mask and tubes and the hospital bed make her look so small. She looks so pale, the red cuts on her face that Lyla assumes are from broken glass stand out in sharp contrast.

It’s rare moments like these that remind Lyla that Felicity is so much younger than Johnny, than herself, and even Oliver. She’s reminded of that night, two years ago when she visited Felicity after the shooting.

Just like now, she was sleeping. Her mother stroked her hair absently and Oliver was nowhere to be seen. Under tubes and wires and the hospital gown, she looked five years younger, too young for someone to be caught up in gun violence and insane, homicidal maniacs hellbent on revenge.

Today, her reasons for injury are far less sinister – at least, on the outside, but Lyla’s definitely going to look into it – but Felicity looks too young for it all the same.

Lyla always associated Felicity with happiness – before she got to know her, she knew Felicity from the smile that Johnny had when he would talk about her, the stories he would relay and the jokes he would try to recreate. He spoke of her with the same amount of pride and fondness someone would have for a sibling. Theirs was a special bond she understood long before she knew Felicity Smoak.

But then she got to _know_ Felicity Smoak – and she was not prepared.

She realized her initial suspicions were not entirely right. She was light and happiness and colour just as Johnny described her as, but above all she was _strength_. She was the balance intelligence and rationality and emotion, and Lyla, who had been trained carefully under Amanda Waller’s thumb, immediately admired her for it.

To see her, unsmiling, connected to machines to keep herself alive, though not the first time, feels _wrong_ all the same.

She corners a doctor while he does rotations around the rooms and checks briefly on Felicity – it takes a little bit of convincing, because the doctor argues that Lyla isn’t her family.

One white lie that they’re cousins is pennies compared to the long rap sheet Lyla’s collected over the years.

It’s how she learns that Felicity is mostly okay, but an ugly combination of broken glass and crumpled car part dug into her chest and they’re worried about any damage to the lungs. One concussion, no whiplash, no damage to her neck or most importantly her spine, and Lyla feels like she can breathe again.

The doctor gives her a suspicious look when he comments on the implant in her spine and Lyla silently curses – when she had planned Felicity and William’s protection, she never made contingencies in case of injury, which was stupid. She should have. But if Lyla had it her way, Felicity would have been airlifted and flown to the nearest ARGUS base for their inhouse treatment before the ambulance was even dispatched.

Really, if Lyla had it her way, Felicity wouldn’t be hurt at all.

She shakes the doctor off and returns to find William and Johnny, who are both seated in the waiting room as she left them.

Johnny rests his arms on his knees, leaning forward to speak to William. The boy has been crying again, his face is red and splotchy, and he keeps his eyes trained on the ground as he wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. Whatever Johnny says, William is nodding in response rather than speaking.

“Hey, boys,” she approaches them hesitantly, two pairs of eyes meeting her. William’s are still glassy, shining in worry. Johnny is more contained, but she can tell that the emotions are being kept in a tight vault for when he has a moment. “I found Felicity’s room. She’s out of surgery, but she’s resting right now. The doctor said that she’ll be okay, but they want to watch her carefully.”

Both nod at her words, and visible relief flows through the air.

“Can I see her?” William stands up, clasping his hands together nervously, and Lyla notices a slight tremor in the action.

“You can,” she says, “But I’m guessing you haven’t eaten anything today. Am I right?”

William deflates.

“I’m not hungry,” he says, “I just want to see her.”

“You might not feel hungry now,” Lyla puts a hand on his shoulder, “But it’ll catch up to you soon. Felicity’s just sleeping now, she’ll need you to be energized when she wakes up. So, let’s go.”

William nods, looking defeated.

“We’re going to go find the cafeteria,” Lyla says gently, turning to Johnny, “She’s in room 217.”

Johnny’s eyes fill with tears and he grits his teeth to fight them off. He doesn’t respond, giving her a tight hug before walking off in the direction of Felicity’s room.

Lyla’s known John Diggle for long enough to know that he needs some privacy when he checks on her. She’ll make sure he’s okay later, but right now her focus is on the other important man in Felicity’s life.

The cafeteria is on the first floor. It’s not the biggest, and the options are fairly limited, but they both end up getting wrapped sandwiches and bottles of juice.

“You saw her right?” William asks once they’re seated, “She’s okay?”

“She’s just fine,” Lyla says, pushing his tray forward and urging him to take a bite.

He looks down at the untouched meal.

“When I was riding with them in the ambulance, for a moment I thought...” he shakes his head, “I thought that was it. I already lost my mom and dad this year and … I thought I was going to lose her too.”

Lyla feels for the kid sitting in front of her. She can’t begin to imagine how much he’s lost in such a short amount of time, and what he must have felt seeing Felicity injured.

“She’s not going anywhere,” she assures him, and it makes him smile.

“That’s what she told me,” he says fondly, “A while back. We had this fight, and after – I, yeah.”

Lyla remembers that fight. Or, at least the tearful call she got from Felicity declaring she couldn’t do this anymore.

Clearly, they’d moved on from it, and it only worked to make their bond stronger.

Lyla looks to his tray. He’s barely made a dent in his sandwich, but he took a few sips of the orange juice.

“Tell you what,” she says, “Finish half of that and we can go see Felicity, okay?”

William obliges. He manages to even finish off the OJ before eagerly getting out of his chair.

“Can we go now?”

He looks at her with so much hope that Lyla couldn’t even find a reason to say no if she wanted to.

“Sure, kid, let’s go.”

When they return to the second floor, Lyla catches Johnny giving a watery grin to the bed through the small window. There’s a small murmuring inside and then a nurse shuffling around.

William opens the door gingerly, walking in with a deliberate lightness in his step, as though he’s trying to be as quiet as possible.

As they approach the bed, he gives a relieved sigh.

Felicity’s awake now, her eyes are still swollen from whatever meds the hospital put her on, but she’s giving the faintest smile.

“Hey, bud,” she mumbles quietly, so quiet that Lyla sees it in her lips moving rather than hearing it.

“Hi,” William hangs at the foot of her bed, lacing his fingers together uncertainly.

Felicity raises a hand but immediately winces.

“Come here,” she says, still holding up her hand so that William can grasp it.

The young boy’s eyes immediately fill with tears, his chin begins to shake as he tries to contain them. Lyla watches from the corner with sympathy.

“You scared me,” William reveals in a shaky tone.

“I’m sorry,” she says gently, “I’m okay, I’m here now. Not going anywhere, remember?”

Lyla feels like she’s intruding on a private moment, so she chooses to walk toward Johnny, who watches on the scene with tear stained cheeks and a small smile.

“How are you doing?” she murmurs, arms curling around his middle.

Johnny shakes his head.

“I was there when she started to come to,” he says quietly, “She thought she was dreaming when she saw me.”

He blows out a sharp exhale. Lyla doesn’t need the months of experience to know how hard the safehouse had been on him, he hated every minute of it, and that his first words with her in person were while she was doped up and in a hospital bed couldn’t have been easy.

“The nurse came by?” Lyla asks, noting that the nurse who was there as they entered quietly slipped out without her noticing. Damn, this accident was messing her instincts.

Johnny nods.

“She said everything’s looking good, she needs to rest up and be kept in here for observation.”

Lyla lets her shoulders drop in relief.

“An officer also dropped by,” he says quietly, his mouth set in a grim line, “It was a hit and run. They got the plates of the other car on the traffic cams.”

Lyla feels her jaw tighten. A hit and run could just be someone who got scared – but it could be an organized attack. She has no way of knowing until she gets an access to that traffic cam footage.

She really didn’t feel like stopping by the office today. Oh, well.

Felicity falls asleep talking to William shortly after that. They let her, because she needs it.

William looks significantly less stressed, and he’s perfectly content to sit on a chair next to her bed and watch her as she sleeps.

Lyla wonders if she should bring him a book or an iPad or something.

Given his preoccupation, Johnny and Lyla take the moment to discuss their options. It’s evident that their plans to visit Oliver today just went out the window, and they certainly can’t leave William unsupervised here.

They did need to give Oliver some important updates from Star City, however, so they agreed that they’d both stay with William tonight, and tomorrow Lyla would drive to the prison while Johnny stayed with Felicity.

From that point forward, they’ll play it by ear and gauge how Felicity’s feeling.

And they’ll have to work out contingencies for these kind of situations immediately.

But later. For now, Lyla will let her friend rest.

* * *

Lyla rubs at her eye as she drives towards Slabside Maximum Security Prison. She had an especially long night, driving to an ARGUS base to follow up on the car that hit Felicity.

On first glance – and by glance, she means a solid five hours of work – it looks to Lyla that there was nothing suspicious about the accident. The nagging feeling kept her awake for an extra two hours, and she checked twice, thrice, before she could be assured.

This morning, she’s regretting how thorough she was.

Okay, maybe not. She’d never regret being thorough if it meant her friend’s safety was ensured.

She steels herself for the conversation she’ll have with Oliver. On the passenger seat of the car sits a manila folder with all the updates from home she needed to give him, but now she’ll need to keep herself in check when he inevitably asks about Felicity and William.

By now she’s grown acquainted with the hallways and staff of the prison, as well as the visitors. Some familiar faces pass her by – spouses, family, attorneys – as she makes her way through security.

Oliver doesn’t look much different than the last time they visited a few weeks ago.

Lyla doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. On one hand, it means he’s holding up in here, but on the other, he didn’t look all that great last time.

His hair is far longer, beard growing out in a way that clearly irritates him as he runs a hand through it. He’s lost weight, most of it showing in his face as his sunken cheeks and darkened under eyes make him look paler.

But Oliver Queen is a fighter.

He gives Lyla a courteous smile on the other side of the glass and picks up the telephone.

“Hi Oliver,” she says, feeling weary.

“Hey, Lyla,” Oliver’s eyebrows furrow slightly, “Long night?”

Lyla pushes a strand of her short brown hair back and fights a smile. Evidently, her fatigue would not go unnoticed today.

“Something like that,” she says vaguely, “How are you holding up?”

“Good,” Oliver nods, “Have you heard from Felicity and William? How are they doing?”

Lyla winces internally. She saw it coming – it was always his first question when she visited.

“They’re good,” she says, with a little more haste than she’d prefer, “I came here to give you a few updates on Star City.”

She pushes the manila folder forward and flips it open

The first page is not the report she needed – it’s actually about an op one of her teams is running out in Corto Maltese. Damn, she realizes. She left the correct file with Johnny.

When she frowns, it catches Oliver’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says, without looking up, “I didn’t bring the right file, that’s all. The confusion in the hospital last night probably made Johnny and me mix it up –”

Her head snaps up at the slip, and Oliver’s eyes widen.

“Hospital?” he repeats, “Did you say hospital? What happened?”

Lyla purses her lips, trying to maintain the neutral expression she’s so good at keeping a handle on. But the lack of sleep, exhaustion from driving around across the interstate and emotional toll of a friend in the hospital is catching up with her.

“Nothing,” she says quickly, “It’s nothing. I can give you updates from memory, I don’t need the file. So, we should start with the mayoral race. One of the candidates –”

“Lyla,” Oliver says in a low voice, his eyes darkening, “What. Happened.”

_Sorry Johnny. Sorry Felicity._

“Felicity was in a car accident yesterday,” she admits, and when his face immediately shifts she hurries to continue, “She’s fine. She’s perfectly okay. Johnny and I were supposed to visit you yesterday, but we drove to her instead. Johnny’s still there, he’s looking after her and William.”

Oliver doesn’t say anything, processing the news. He lifts a hand to scrub at his tired face, and there’s a noticeable tremor as he does.

“She’s okay,” he repeats slowly, “But she’s still in the hospital?”

Lyla doesn’t see the point in sugar-coating any of it now. She never believed in that, anyway.

“She had some injuries close to her lungs,” she explains, “She needed surgery and she’s just been recovering. The doctor said she should be coming home soon.”

Oliver’s shoulders sag in relief.

“If you hadn’t slipped, would you have told me?”

Again, no need to sugar-coat.

“No.”

“Did she ask you not to?”

“Felicity didn’t know I was coming,” Lyla says, “I didn’t want her to worry, or feel stressed. We just need her getting better.”

Oliver nods slowly, looking down to the tabletop.

“I wish I could be there,” he says, frustration edging into his voice. He runs a hand along his beard in irritation, hating the bed he’s made for himself here.

Lyla doesn’t say anything. She’s not one for encouraging speeches or empty words – not for someone like Oliver, who wouldn’t need it from her.

“She’s going to be fine,” Lyla repeats, “She’s a fighter.”

Oliver doesn’t respond to that, but something else in his mind seems to click.

“Are you going back to visit her, after this?” he asks, a strange surge of hope colouring his tone.

Lyla nods.

“Do you think…” Oliver bites the inside of his cheek, as though to contain some excitement, “I know you said we couldn’t send letters, but if I wrote something, could you give it to her?”

His eyebrows are turned up in hope, his fingers are starting to drum against the table as though they’re _itching_ to say something. Lyla doesn’t even know how she’d be able to say no to him.

She can only get a “Sure, Oliver,” out, before he’s pushing away to retrieve a yellow legal pad.

* * *

By the time Lyla gets back to the hospital, it’s the evening. She’s tired from the long night and driving back and forth for the past few days.

She’s relieved when she walks up to Felicity’s room to find that she’s being discharged, William and Johnny hovering around her carefully as she pushes on the wheels of a hospital chair with a bright smile.

“Lyla,” she says with a grin. She’s a far cry from the drowsy girl Lyla met with yesterday, she looks more like the Felicity Smoak Lyla had come to know over the years. “You’re back! How was work?”

Lyla purses her lips and glances at Johnny, who shakes his head. They deliberately told her Lyla would go to work instead of visiting Oliver, but she honestly didn’t think Felicity would remember.

The folded note from Oliver is pressed against her palm.

“It was good,” she says slowly, walking around the bed to look at her friend carefully, “Actually, I had gone to Oliver’s prison.”

Felicity’s cheerful smile falters for a moment before returning, but Lyla notices the change.

“Oh,” she says, “How is he doing?”

“He’s good,” Lyla says. Good feels like an overstatement, but there aren’t many words she can use. “Actually, when he found out you were here, he asked me to pass along this message.”

She holds out the yellow paper, and Felicity eyes it.

“You told him?” she asks warily, “How did he take it?”

Lyla blinks, fighting off the image of Oliver looking horrified and helpless across the glass.

“He was fine,” she says simply.

Felicity nods, but a worry line forms in her forehead as she stares down at Oliver’s note in her hand.

“Hey,” Lyla says gently, “Don’t worry about that now. Let’s focus on you getting home and feeling better, okay?”

Felicity takes a steadying breath and nods, pulling the sweater Johnny retrieved from her house around herself closely.

* * *

It’s somehow more sad to leave William and Felicity in their Littleville house this time than the last – even though last time came on the heels of Oliver’s arrest and the death of a close friend. Still, Lyla finds herself gritting her teeth so she can fight off the unexpected tightness in her throat as Johnny pulls Felicity in for a tight hug.

They murmur something too quiet for her to hear, and she lets them have the private moment. She can’t even know when they’ll next see each other again, and this accident has put a lot of things into perspective.

Felicity embraces Lyla next. As her hand presses against Felicity’s back, Lyla finds herself moving tighter.

“You take care of yourself,” she says sternly when they pull away.

Felicity nods, giving a little mock salute.

“Yes, ma’am,” she says with a serious expression, but immediately breaks it for a wide grin.

She hugs William next, running a hand through his hair affectionately before looking down on him, “No more trouble from you two,” she says.

William laughs. He’s far lighter now than he was when she first saw him, and she is relieved.

As they leave, Lyla doesn’t see Felicity immediately go up to her room, closing the door quietly behind her.

She doesn’t see as she makes her way to the bed, wincing as she sits down, and unfolding the note that was slightly crumpled under her nervous grip.

She doesn’t see as the words make tears well in Felicity’s eyes, or how after reading she keeps it with her on the nightstand, unfolded and facing her pillow so that she can look at it as she drifts off.

* * *

_Dear Felicity,_

_The last time you were in the hospital, after I had just given you your ring back and promised you forever, I swore up and down I would never leave you there, alone and hurting again._

_Turns out, I have a bad habit of breaking my promises to you. Even the ones I made without telling you._

_If I took the time to apologize for it, I’d start apologizing for a lot of things, and I’d run out of paper. So I won’t._

_When Lyla told me you were in the hospital – don’t be mad, she didn’t want to tell me, but I pushed her into it – I felt like I couldn’t breathe._

_It’s helpless, sometimes, being in here and hearing about things going on outside and knowing I can’t help. It’s why talking to you on your birthday was hard – I could hear in your voice how tired you were, how much the past few months have taken their toll on you, and I would do anything to take it away, but I can’t. Because I’m stuck here._

_I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. This was supposed to be something short, a get well soon and an I love you, and something to make you smile. But I started writing and I realized how much I just miss talking to you. If you can write I’ll convince Lyla to get a reply, because I miss so much about you. I miss your writing, even if I only saw it from grocery lists we’d leave on the fridge._

_I lost track of this letter._

_Lyla told me everything – at least, I think. It’s hard to tell with her. I know Diggle is with you, and that makes me feel relieved. I know I sent you away, but I can breathe a bit easier if he’s with you. Maybe this arrangement was a mistake. Lord knows it wouldn’t be my first._

_I know William was worried about you too, and you told him you weren’t going anywhere. I’m proud of him for hanging in there, he probably kept a better head than I did. Send him some of my love._

_I’m sorry about the writing. This is the only pen I had, and the ink is drying out. Maybe it’s a sign telling me to wrap things up when I could go on and on with all the things I want to say to you. You always loved pointing out signs from the world._

_Okay. I’ll cut this short, because I know Lyla has to leave soon and I really want to get this to you. Please get well soon, stay strong for our boy, take care of yourself and know that I love you, always._

_Yours forever,_

_Oliver._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the letter separately, wasn't sure if I wanted to keep it but I got attached to it in the end.


	6. Fighting Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diaz finds Felicity, and she’s done hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, long time no see. I had put this series aside for a while but a recent promo with [spoiler:] Felicity in pink hair, bruised, and visiting Oliver inspired this.
> 
> I wrote this half on my phone, following more the first inspiration in months more than anything. Hope you like it!

Five months.  
  
That’s how long it took until Felicity reached her limit.  
  
She did what she needed — she got a good job at a restaurant and she listened to Lyla and Diggles updates. She responded to her fake name with no hesitation anymore. She was integrated with her neighbors — birthday parties, barbecues, all of it.  
  
When there was a Diaz spotting in the next town over, Lyla told her to change her appearance up. She did.  
  
Pink strands blending into blonde grew on her.  
  
When one of Diaz’ men found her at work, ignoring the Meg name tag and referred to her as Felicity, she ran straight to the break room and contacted Diggle, Lyla, _anyone_ , only to get no response.  
  
She went home and sent William to their neighbor for the evening. She had a bad feeling that only got worse by the fifth missed call.  
  
She busied herself with the dishes that piled in the sink, ignoring the prickling sensation on her neck as the sky grew dark behind her  
  
When the glass of the backyard door crashed behind her, her hand was already on the handle of a pan.  
  
When she swung it around, she was surprised to see Diaz himself, fists raised and his lips curled up into a snarl.  
  
Anger flared inside Felicity’s chest. It was the first time she’d encountered him — the reason her husband was in prison, the reason she had spent the past few months living a lie. She presumed the absence of a gun meant he wasn’t here to kill her. Or that he underestimated her.  
  
She swung the pan again, this time towards Diaz’s head, but he ducked before it could land.  
  
He lunged towards her and she moved quick, pushing down the dish rack and letting all the dishes crash to the ground. Grabbing blindly at whatever was in arms reach, she threw her coffee maker at Diaz.  
  
Using the distraction she ran toward the door, shoving the dining table chairs down in her way. She heard the sound of Diaz cursing as he tripped behind her and smirked, a short lived feeling of smugness taking over before his fingers wrapped around her ankle and pulled her down.  
  
She landed in the broken glass with a scream. She could feel the cuts in her palms where she tried to soften the landing, and on her forehead where she couldn’t protect herself. Hot blood trickled at the side of her face.  
  
“You’ve ran long enough, Miss Smoak,” Diaz said.  
  
His grip on her tightened as he dragged her on the floor. She started thrashing, fists raised to his face. She felt the same shortly lived triumph as one of her punches landed and split his lip.  
  
The shock, combined with another voice shouting made Diaz’s grip loosen a little.  
  
“Boss!” someone shouted, “Kid’s not up there.”  
  
Felicity used the distraction to scramble free, running towards the door and trying to ignore the throbbing feeling in her head.  
  
She sprinted down the empty street, to her neighbour’s house.  
  
Karen answered her frantic doorbell ringing.  
  
“Meg, oh my goodness,” her eyes widened, presumably at Felicity’s appearance.  
  
“I need William,” Felicity panted, “Where is he?”  
  
Karen’s eyebrows furrowed. Felicity blinked before she remembered no one knew him by that name.  
  
“My son,” she said quickly, “I need to get him. And your car.”  
  
“What —“  
  
Karen was moving a little slow for Felicity’s liking. She resisted the urge to snap her fingers.  
  
“Please trust me on this. Get him. And the keys.”  
  
Mercifully, William made his way over, his friend trailing behind him. Both of them had PlayStation controllers in their hands and matching expressions of concern  
  
“What’s going on?” he asked. Karen wordlessly shoved the keys to her car into Felicity’s palm.  
  
“We gotta go,” she said simply.  
  
As they pulled out of the driveway, felicity could see Diaz and his men ransacking their house through the lit windows.  
  
“Keep your head low,” Felicity instructed with a hard voice as they drove off the street.  
  
Diaz’s mistake was assuming Felicity would leave without William.  
  
“What is going on?” William pled once they reached the interstate, “Why are you hurt? Where are we going?”  
  
“We’re going to Slabside Maximum Security Prison,” Felicity answered, “Diaz found us.”  
  
She threw her phone in his lap.  
  
“Try John or Lyla for me again.”  
  
He did. At voicemail, his mouth twisted into a frown.  
  
“Figured that would happen,” she muttered.  
  
Maybe it would be for the best. John would only want to stop her.  
  
They drove through the night. William fell asleep. Felicity stopped once for gas and to clean some of the cuts. She winced when her knuckles tightened over the steering wheel as some of the bleeding there started to scab.  
  
There were a dozen things running through her mind as they got closer to the prison. A million things she would say to Oliver, months worth of anger and frustration at the circumstances finally began to creep up from the deep dark box she shoved them in for his sake.  
  
Everything went out the window the minute she saw him.  
  
She was on his visitor list — of course she was, of course he would hold out hope even when he told her she couldn’t visit — but William didn’t have ID, so he waited in the lobby.  
  
That was good, she decided, he didn’t need to see his father like this.  
  
Oliver’s hair was shaved short, close to his head, but his beard had grown out longer than she had ever seen it. His skin was sunken at his cheeks, and his clothes floated a little more than they would have before.  
  
None of that mattered when she looked at his eyes, deeply bruised and scarred from far more than one little fight. This was months of violence, of no sleep, of the toll prison had on him.  
  
And he was going to do this for the rest of his life.  
  
He looked almost awed when he picked up the phone.  
  
“Felicity?” he whispered.  
  
All her anger evaporated.  
  
“Hi,” she said simply. Her throat closed up at the word, the realization that this was their first face to face conversation in months set in.  
  
“What...” his eyes trailed over her forehead, her bruising eye, her scabbed knuckles, “What happened?”  
  
“Protective custody didn’t work,” Felicity said simply, “Diaz found us. I took William and ran.”

“He hurt you,” Oliver said, his eyes darkening.

“It won’t happen again,” Felicity promised, “I tried calling home, but no one would answer. I think something happened to them first. Maybe they were forced to give up our location.”

Oliver nodded slowly.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

Felicity purses her lips. This conversation — it was so unlike them. There was no love from months ago, it was detached and clinical as they figured out their next steps. It was the first time Felicity could see that they would never be the couple they once were again.

The thought made her deeply sad.

“I’m going to fight back,” she said firmly.

When Oliver opened his mouth — to protest, no doubt — she spoke quicker.

“I _have to_ fight back, Oliver,” she said, “I have to. I did what you asked for months — I listened, because it was what you wanted, and you gave yourself up for all of us. But not anymore. He found us anyway. If William had been home he would have hurt him too.”

Oliver’s eyes flashed at the name.

“William — is he —?”

“He’s outside,” she said quickly, “He was at a friend’s house when Diaz found me, thank god. I picked him up and drove straight here.”

“Back to Star City after this?”

“Yes.”

“I have a lot of enemies here,” Oliver said vaguely, gesturing to his face, “I know I’ll have more back home.”

“I can handle it,” Felicity replied.

Oliver didn’t say anything. His eyes were downcast.

“Okay, I should get going then,” she said quickly, her eyes stinging at what felt like rejection.

“Felicity, wait,” he hurried to say as she got up. She paused, phone still raised to her ear. “I’m sorry.”

Felicity felt her walls start to go up.

“It’s not your fault, Oliver,” she said, by now the words formed automatically.

“Please look at me,” he pled, “Just for a minute.”

She sat back down. When she looked at him, his eyes were red.

“I’m sorry you got hurt. That Diaz found you despite everything I made you do.”

She picked at the sleeve of her red flannel shirt.

“You couldn’t really _make me_ do anything,” she mumbled.

Oliver laughed.

“That is true. But still. You did what I asked, even when it was hard for you. I don’t know how I can even begin to thank you.”

Felicity shrugged.

“You told me once I never have to thank you,” she said, “It goes both ways.”

“God, I miss you,” he breathed.

The abrupt change in his tone made her eyes sting with more tears.

“Oliver, don’t,” she said, her voice catching,

“I do,” he said, “So much. Every day. I wish you didn’t have to leave, but I know I can’t ask you to stay.”

“I miss you, too,” she whispered, “I’ll come back to visit. Once I have everything sorted, I’ll bring William, he misses you _so much_.”

Oliver nodded. The underside of his lashes were wet.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” she said. The urge to do the cliched hand against the glass thing felt strong. She could see that his arm twitched as he felt the same impulse, the same need to just _feel_ each other again.

She got up again, this time walking out of the visitation room without a backwards glance.

She did what she needed to do for months. She let the others fight the fight for her while she kept her head down and kept William safe.

This time she was done hiding in the shadows.

This time it was her turn to take Diaz down once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably a good place to put a cap on the series, so thank you for following it all this time! I had a lot of fun with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> twitter - smoakoverwatch  
> tumblr - overwatchandarrow


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